


Stages of Grief

by bmvagawood



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: A little, Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Sad, its just sad tbh, with just a touch of fluff before sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmvagawood/pseuds/bmvagawood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They expected Felix coming back with the captains in tow, the worst they could imagine was their friends not being rescued and the whole mission a waste. But never this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stages of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Jumping a bit on the bandwagon but I'm pretty proud of this! c: I couldn't resist writing some sad lieutenants.

“Felix,  _where are they?_ ” Kimball was pacing her office, her boots clanking against the concrete floors and filling the otherwise tense silence. The mercenary lowered his head, voice broken and quiet, “When I got there, they were- they were…” He took a sharp breath and the leader stopped in her tracks, her helmet twisting to stare at him.

“I’m sorry,” Felix’s voice dipped into a whisper, sounding choked, “I was too late… I barely could get out, feds were everywhere. They’re dead.” It was as if time had frozen and breathing stopped. The words curled into the air like a wisp of smoke, settling in the room. A high pitched whine shattered the quiet; it startled everyone else into moving. Kimball was out the door in a few strides, Bitters not too far behind as a hurricane of curses and anger. Palomo made more distressed noises, burying his covered face into his hands. Jensen let a sob, leaning into Smith’s already outstretched arms to muffle them into his shoulder. “I’ll… I’ll go check on Kimball,” Felix spoke softly, laying a hand on the cyan soldier’s arm before walking through the doorway.

Under his helmet, the mercenary’s smile couldn't have been bigger.

A few moments passed as Jensen and Palomo cried, voices becoming scratched from each gasp. “Palomo,” he jerked up, turning to the deep voice, “get over here.” Another body joined the hug, the three squeezing as close as possible to the protest of their armor. Their strangled breaths panting in unison and they swayed in their embrace of grief, but it wasn't complete. Someone was missing, but they had to gather themselves together.

Smith tried to stay as quiet as possible, desperately fighting to keep his tears in his eyes and losing by a landslide. Captain Caboose may not have been the smartest one of the four, but he had such an addictive energy that gave the lieutenant a high no caffeine could. He saw the sadness that he had tried to bury under stories and a childish happiness; one inquisitive poke at the covered mystery unraveled a tale of many best friends. The ghost Church, pet robot Freckles, Agent Washington, Sheila, the names rolled off his tongue. The first disappeared like smoke from a candle, a bare glance before he was gone. Freckles fought bravely, he remembered seeing the pieces being brought back and Felix remarking about loss of good equipment.

Caboose didn't cry. His voice got lower and more hushed like his emotions, any other but happy, were forbidden. It was a secret he shared in the dim light of Smith’s lamp that broadcast soft light over the bed in the dark hours of night. He spoke of Washington donning his old best friend’s armor, even telling him how he allowed Caboose to call him Church. He smiled then, leaning back to lay on the bed, saying that the agent tried his best. His best to replace the hole left in both Caboose and Tucker. Smith stayed quiet, before relaying his own tales. Of lost friends and empty homes, family found amongst soldiers. They talked till the captain yawned and “thank you” sleepily exchanged. Smith was settling in the top bunk when the other spoke again, breathing out his name like scared child.

“Yes, Captain Caboose?” “You’re my new best friend, Smith. I hope you don’t leave too.”  _No, this time **you**  were the abandoner._

Jensen had so much admiration for Simmons. People often mistaken it for a crush but she’s hasn't had one of those in years. No, she truly just looked up to him. He was smart, both in technology and just intellect. Some days, when he wasn't so nervous, he would show her how to program a code or mess with the door system to close whenever it detects Grif. (He admitted to putting a little data chip in the orange captain’s helmet for pranks which she found hilarious). She was overjoyed to learn that she was in his team, being above average in vehicle maintenance and a little bit of a nerd about learning. Sure, the two weren't as close as the others with their captains, but Jensen saw him as a teacher. She saw him as a friend. But now he was gone, taking knowledge and amusement along with him. Katie Jensen didn't fight the building tears, didn't fight as they streamed down her face. She simply turned to Smith, leaned into him, and just  _cried_.

Palomo and Tucker had a… strange relationship. The captain hated the private, yet didn't. Palomo felt like he just didn't want to be here and it was nothing to him personally. Tucker tried to protect him a lot by placing him away from the main action, though often covered it up with saying he was incompetent and would kill everyone by accident. It was one morning at breakfast that he hinted as to why when he passed Palomo, ruffling his light hair with a laugh.  _“Bleach, huh? I can see brown roots.”_  The younger swatted his hand away, whining at the man with scrambled eggs still in his mouth. “ _There aren't any salons out here, don’t blame me!”_

Tucker’s teasing expression softened, his dark brown eyes looked sad for a moment as they searched for something on Palomo’s face. He smiled gently at him, patting his armored shoulder. His words echoed through Palomo’s mind as he cried now, getting a little insight as to Tucker’s thoughts.  _“You’re way too young to be fighting a war.”_  He walked away, leaving the blond slightly confused and with a heavy feeling in his chest.  _I don’t think anyone’s old enough for this, Captain Tucker. Not even you._

~

“ _God fucking-,_ ” Bitters kicked open his door, finding his bunkroom blissfully empty but he wasn't focused on that. Food was piled on his dresser, a portion of last week’s cafeteria raid that Grif had led. He grabbed the box of doughnuts first; the bright yellow container seemed mocking so he ripped it apart.  The sweets rolled to the ground, he ground a couple under the heel of his boot and grabbed others to fling them at the wall. Brown of chocolate frosting splattered onto the industrial white walls, words were spilling from his mouth but he couldn't hear whether they were in a shout or whisper.

Cookies were next and his own personal favorite chocolate chips were crushed in his palm then flung at the doughnut stained wall. He remembered stories Grif told him, about freelancers and how he should have died long ago but luck was always on their side. He remembered Grif helping him hide from the angry cook, taking a hit from a frying pan for him; the captain complained about it for weeks but Bitters was grateful. He never told him though. Never thanked him for the raids, the jokes, the stories, for  _trying_. He stared at the crumbled Oreos until his vision was blurring. Suddenly, the ground was closer and his knees hurt and he was crying. Tears were spilling from his eyes and lungs gasping for oxygen like a fish out of water. This hurt worse than his stomach after he ate that Debbie pie from Grif’s room, worse than getting yelled at for eating it.

Bitters threw off his helmet, finding some relief in the dent it made in the wall before grief came back for round two. He gripped at his hair that grew a little too shaggy to be still considered a mohawk and kept relaying memories,  _“Orange, huh? Of course.”_   _“Shut up, it looks cool.” “Yeah, it does actually.”_  He cried because the captains were dead. He cried because nobody knows what to do anymore. He cried because the people who had brought happiness and  _hope_  to this fucking place are gone, killed trying to find their friends. This war isn't damn fair. It took away the one person who gave a shit about him, who cared enough to ask about why he was here.  _“What are you fighting for Bitters?” “I don’t know.”_

Thumps forced him to look up and see the other helmet-less lieutenants holding onto each other like they could barely stand on their own. Any other day, Bitters would probably have made a snarky comment. Probably something about wind knocking them down just like dominoes. But it wasn't one of those days, possibly won’t be for a while. Instead he reached out his arms, feeling like a kid again, asking for comfort and safety. Smith let go of the other two, falling to his knees in front of him to hug him tightly. Warmth seeped through despite the metal between them, orange and blue meshing as they clung to each other in a silent ‘ _I understand._ ’ Bitters let out a small sigh and snuggled closer in the embrace to bury his face into exposed neck, his throat felt closed up and tear ducts empty. For a moment, he remembered a happier time of childhood and hanging on his parents when dreams turned to nightmares. He always did joke about how Smith was the mom of the group. Jensen and Palomo joined, they let go of each other to allow the younger two in.

“C-can we take off our armor? It’s hard to hug…” Palomo’s voice was quiet and raspy in the silence, his face showed his nervousness at the response he might get. Jensen answered with standing on shaky legs, ripping off piece by piece. Slowly, they joined and colored steel littered the carpet until the four stood in shorts and thin t-shirts. Bitters wanted to complain about the mess that he would probably be roped into cleaning up, but a glance at the ruined food and wall quickly killed his words and restarted the water in his eyes.

-

Kimball found them later, searching wildly because  _no not them too_  until she saw the open door of the orange team’s bunk room. They reminded her of small children, asleep with limbs tangled together and trying to touch everyone. She mused to herself that Tucker would've found a hilarious joke in that thought as she stepped over helmets and crushed doughnuts. Palomo was tucked between Jensen and Smith, rolled into a loose ball with his face pressed into her collar. Jensen curled over him like a blanket, draping freckled arms over Smith’s stomach to reach Bitters whom was clinging to the elder’s other side and touching her hand. Smith was in the middle of it all on his back, acting as a human pillow and gripping onto the backs of Jensen’s and Bitters’s shirts. As if they would be taken from him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. She truly was. She didn't want this war. She didn't want those idiots to ride off on their own. Certainly didn't want them to die either. Kimball knew people died all the time, more now in these times like Felix seemed to love reminding her. But this loss of their captains hit them hard; she didn't want to think of the rest of the soldiers’ reactions. The lieutenants must be in more pain than her, they adored their captains. Bitters may pretend not to care about his but she could see right past him, she hoped Grif could have as well.

“Kimball-” Felix stopped short, catching sight of the sleeping soldiers and dropping his voice to a whisper, “Oh sorry, Kimball, we need to tell the others. They are starting to wonder where the captains went.” She sighed, nodding as she can hear the silent  _‘ **you**  need to tell the others’_ because she was the leader. Even though she just wants to bury herself in the pile and grieve with the lieutenants, Kimball knows that there’s a target on her back and it’s brighter than ever. Soon, her armor will only hold her trust. Felix has been acting odd lately and especially now; she could see his sad expressions drop when she turns around and only catches it in the corner of her eye. Something felt wrong and she will find out.

She will find out for the lieutenants and the captains, it’s the least she can do.


End file.
